What the Junk?
by Dreamnorn
Summary: "Don't touch my junk, aru!" Misinterpretations between countries are not unheard of, but this will be a slip that America will never forget. Oneshot. Rated for brief language.


_Don't kill me for not updating "Two Halves of a Whole"—the next chapter will be up by the 16__th__ of October. The reason for this is that I have three big tests next week AND I'm preparing to go to my first school dance. They're both real time-absorbers._

_Anywho, enjoy this little oneshot of mine. This is what happens when I eat a little too much cheesecake._

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What the Junk?

America finished packing his backpack, zipping it closed to the best of his ability. He smiled as he put on his new fishing hat, adjusting it in front of a mirror so that it would look as heroic as possible. He and China, in a rare display of bonding, had decided to go on a fishing trip later that day. Although he never much listened to England when he talked about dressing properly, he figured that he should come with the appropriate gear for once (no matter how stupid he thought it looked). Fishing wasn't something he was used to, so it was better to be prepared. Grabbing his hotel room key, Alfred nodded quietly and slipped it in his pocket.

Everything was in order. Now all he had to do was call China and tell him that he's on his way.

Pulling out his star-spangled cell phone, the younger country quickly scrolled through the contacts and pressed 'Yao Wang', placing the phone to his ear.

_Ring… ring… ring… click._

"_Hello?"_

"G'morning, China!" America blared, grinning happily he struggled to put on his large pack of fishing gear with one hand. "Just calling to say that I'm gonna leave the hotel in a few minutes and head over to your place. Man, I haven't been fishing since Iggy convinced me to take up a 'gentleman's sport.'"

There was a static laughter on the other side. _"I understand how you feel, aru. I can't have been more than 2,000 years old since I last sailed!"_

_Holy crap, just how ancient IS this guy?_ Alfred was only half a millennium, give or take a couple of decades. Aloud, he mumbled, "Ehh, I prefer football. Not the football-as-in-soccer, but the manly game where people tackle each other in the mud and usually break their bones during their career."

"…_That sounds… vaguely entertaining, aru. Western cultures are so interesting!"_

Beaming proudly and not bothering to be modest, America started, "Well, I _guess_ you could say—!"

"_AHH! Don't touch my junk!"_

Alfred's words died mid-sentence.

A new voice, one that America couldn't quite recognize over the phone, whined,_ "Aww, can't I at least feel it? It's so firm and sturdy!"_

"_I—aru—no. No, no, no. Get out of here, aru! Shouldn't you be in your OWN house?"_

"_Feel it, Yao! For something so old, it's awful tense and strong. How'd you do that? I'm impressed."_

"_Hey, what are you—no! Wait! Don't pull there, aru! Stop! Please—!"_

_Click._

Dial tone rang in the background as America stared quietly ahead of him, completely dazed and confused. Trying to grasp the situation, he rolled over China's words in his mind. _Don't touch my junk. Don't touch my junk. Don't touch my JUNK…_

"HOLY SHIT!"

Alfred broke the record for the fastest person to ever check out of a hotel as he soared towards China's house at such speeds, he could have jumped off the ground and flapped his arms to fly with the tremendous amounts of thrust. Crappity crappity CRAP. Who knows what would happen if he didn't get there fast? He might be hurt, or molested more, or even—

America's running increased in speed.

Three minutes later, Alfred burst through the door to China's garage so violently that it practically fell off its hinges. "CHINA! I'll save you! I—!"

He froze.

China was standing over Korea in a disciplinary pose in front of something large and covered that America could only assume was the boat they would sail later on their trip. Not being hurt. Or molested.

The look on China's face snapped him out of his thoughts. The Asian nation's eyes flickered with annoyance. "We have a knocker, you know. Use it, aru."

"But I… but you… someone touched your junk!"

"Korea did, aru. And you just interrupted a lecture I was giving him. Seriously, I figured it would have taken you _twenty_ minutes for you to get here rather than the four after your phone call. Were you almost here when you called, aru?"

Alfred could hardly believe this. Korea, China's _little brother_, somehow got away with _groping_ China's _ass,_ and was only getting a _lecture? _And why the hell was China being so CALM about it?

"But Korea molested you!"

Korea looked almost amused. "_What?_ Yeesh, America, what kind of pervert do you TAKE me for? I haven't done that since I moved out."

China raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon, aru? He did no such thing."

"I only touched his junk," the younger country grumbled.

"Exactly!"

China scratched his head, thoroughly confused by this statement. After a few moments of awkward silence, he snapped his fingers, eyes widening with realization.

"Oh, I get it, aru! You thought of junk as American slang, did you not?"

"Junk _is_ slang, dude. But what does that have to do with any—"

And then a peculiar thing happened.

China started laughing.

Alfred wanted to say something, but he found that all his words seemed to be in shock. China was _laughing_ at this? Why? Frustrated, America turned to Korea. The other nation was holding back fits of giggles, his hair curl bobbing up and down excitedly.

"Hey! What gives?" he shouted.

In response, China pulled the sheet off of the boat, a huge grin on his face. Still spluttering in amusement, he snickered, "America, this is my junk. A Chinese sailing vessel, aru. A _boat._"

"China made this ship centuries ago," Korea added. "I was surprised at how sturdy and well-kept it was. I mean, it's made of _wood._ Shouldn't it have decayed a long time ago?"

A boat.

A _boat._

As the words slowly processed in America's brain, Alfred came to one logical conclusion as to what he should do next.

"China?"

"Yeah, aru?"

"Can I see that oar over there? I need to beat it against my head for an hour."

* * *

_Yep, a junk is a type of Chinese sailboat. Look it up—they're actually really cool looking._

_Now I'm off to go crawl in a corner and beat myself up for a lack of time to get things updating at a reasonable pace. (sob sob)_


End file.
